The kerplotz of two well-formed turdlets into the crapper tonight heralded the return of Miss O's properly functioning insides, and yea, there was much rejoicing. She seems to be back to her old self, amazingly enough. I thought it may have had something to do with the "Blandest Lunch Ever Prepared" that I sent with her to camp today -- half a peanut butter sandwich (with just a fine silt of peanut butter, lightly misted onto the bread), a bag of goldfish, graham crackers, applesauce and a juice --basically the same ingredients that go into grout. But apparently she had ice cream for a snack, so what the shit, I guess she's just better.
Wish I could say the same thing for my colon, however. I don't know if I've picked up what she had, or if it's just the result of the ten pounds of tomatoes I've been trying to choke down every day, but the Rear Admiral is reporting for doodie, if you will. It's like walking around a fucking putrid egg factory in this house -- something's definitely rotten in Denmark, that's for sure. And by "Denmark" I mean "my ass."
Wait, did I go too far there? See, it's hard to tell since I had no fucking sleep for the last coupla nights, as I've been stumbling into Miss O's room practically every hour to either get her some water, rub her back, or sing her a song. And then Mr. Z got up at 5:00 a.m., last night, and was creepily wandering the hall for some reason, so I had to get up and steer his zombie butt back to bed. Of course, it was my night on watch, so each time I returned to bed, I saw the Old Lady just snoozin' the fuck away, her goddamn orange earplugs just taunting me like squishy beacons of noise-cancellation.
Who knows what treats await me tonight. Hopefully the spawn will stay in their beds, and if they do get up, may the Old Lady hear them instead of me, and take care of it. And hopefully I'll relax enough to finally get some sleep -- but not relax too much, so I don't accidentally shit the bed.
Maybe I'll go sleep in the tub tonight.